


Brothers On A Hotel Bed

by rickyling



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Terminus, Song Fic Kinda, post beth's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyling/pseuds/rickyling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the back of a motor bike <br/>With your arms outstretched trying to take flight <br/>Leaving everything behind <br/>But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete <br/>In the city where we still reside. <br/>--<br/>aka, Rick and Daryl's first three kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers On A Hotel Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I'm actually not dead, just writing another fic until my motivation to write Purple returns from war. PS, sorry if this sucks, I haven't written/posted in a while

Their first kiss was not at all how Rick expected it.

Then again, he never expected to kiss Daryl Dixon at all. Granted, he always wanted too. He had come to terms with his feelings for the archer a while ago, but he was certain that the feelings would never be mutual (he knew better now, as Daryl spilled his truths to Rick one night). Rick had dreamt of their first kiss, pined over faux angel wings and sun-darkened hair from farm to prison. Following Lori’s death, though, he forced those feelings -- and frankly, all feelings-- dormant, hiding down in the prison tombs, covered in blood and drowning in missed chances.

After the Governor, after Andrea’s death, Rick came back. He’d watch Daryl disappear behind chain link fences with Michonne, the shovel in his gloved hands feeling foreign. He’d never know if his hunter would come back or what he’d run into, but he demanded himself trust in Daryl. It was the one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do, letting Daryl go out there alone. Rick would clutch his shovel and grit his teeth, burying those feelings down when Daryl would come back and Carol would run her hand up his arm. It was a system he’d mastered for years.

But that walker came out of nowhere, lunging at Daryl’s turned back before the archer could slip away. Rick felt his stomach flip over, and suddenly he was back at Terminus, watching them drag Daryl’s writhing body to that trough. Daryl acted fast, though, and used his broad shoulders to his advantage, flipping the rotten corpse off his back and onto the ground at Rick’s feet. The ex-cop stomped on its head with his old boots, hearing the disgustingly satisfying crunch of the skull beneath his heel, and looked up.

Daryl’s chest was heaving, his hair in disarray, and his eyes glazed over with unmasked fear. Rick, with no regard for common sense, pushed forward, and Daryl’s back was to an oak tree. Rick was at least thankful that Daryl’s lips met his in the middle.

Their lips slammed together, their teeth clashing, their tongues gliding over one another’s. Daryl’s dull nails raked through Rick’s curls, pulling and scraping desperately. Rick slid his hand up Daryl’s hip, pressing him further into the tree whilst simultaneously pulling him closer to his own body. Somewhere in-between the gasps for breath, Rick muttered, _I almost lost you_ muffled by Daryl’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

Daryl ripped away like Rick stabbed him, and Rick let him go. They stumbled away from each other, avoiding each other’s gazes, breathing heavily. Glenn and Maggie came around the corner then, concerned voices and worried eyes.

“We’re fine,” Daryl muttered, pushing past them without looking up. Rick nodded blankly, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

His wedding ring had never felt so heavy.

-

Their second kiss was born out of an achingly similar fear. In the back room of Gabriel’s church, where shadows and stain glass colors clashed on Daryl’s angel wings like Romans. The moon illuminated the floorboards and the pale cross above them; the color once white like the heat in Rick’s veins, but now faded beige. Their lips meet again, just as furiously desperate, Rick’s back braced against the crucifix.

“I came back,” Daryl breathes, his lips moving against Rick’s just slightly when he speaks, like dragonflies skimming across a pond. Rick nods, his hand finding Daryl’s cheek, his forehead finding the other’s, their bodies molding like an astronaut to space.

“You will tire of me,” Rick insists, when Daryl’s lips find his neck, and Rick’s hands are back up the back of that vest. Daryl shakes his head violently, sharply exhaling against Rick’s skin. “I’m not who I used to be,” Rick continues, clutching tighter to his hunter, wanting him to rip away again and leave him there just as much as he wants them to never move from this position ever again.

Daryl’s fingers find his beard, dragging down the side of Rick’s face. “Good,” he breathes, insisting _no one is_ into Rick’s skin with his lips, the words showed by the bruise it’ll leave come morning. If anyone notices the hickey, they don’t say anything. It’s them, hidden behind heavy wooden doors, their doubts dispersing like stardust in the holy air around them, their fears raked into their skin. Its them.

-

Their third kiss is solidifying.

Clean, serene, like the community they found sanction in. Rick catches his reflection on accident, eyes widening. He wipes the fog away from the mirror to get a better look at himself, feeling surreal. He shaves not because he wants relief from the heat, but relief from who he had become. He shaves off his beard in hopes the blood will shed off his skin as well, but its stained there.

They’re alone the night when Judith cries, not quieting no matter how hard Rick tried, rocking her around in his arms in the shadows of their living room. Daryl comes through, avoiding the social gathering outside, staring at the pair with raised eyebrows. They hadn’t talked much since moving to Alexandria, between Rick’s new job and Daryl’s obvious fear of the community. The church and the tree seem distant now, almost lost in a haze of bloodshed and deaths. Almost.

Daryl watches from the doorway for a while, his broad shoulder leaned against the frame, and his mouth upturned in a lopsided grin. Rick nods to acknowledge him before turning back to his daughter, humming a tune he remembers Beth singing to her. Not even that helps.

“Can you take her for a second?” Rick asks quietly, shushing Judith when she lets out another cry. “I’m gonna get her a bottle.”

Daryl nods and walks over, pausing just in front of Rick. Rick meets him in the middle, stepping flush up against the hunter for easier exchange of their precious bundle. Suddenly they’re both hyperaware of how close they are to each other, their arms brushing and their lips close enough to taste each other’s breath.

Their lips are together before they could think better of it.

This time its different though-- they are not afraid. They are not trying to feel alive again, not trying to find a spark in something just to feel. No, it isn’t about that now. Its slow and gentle, the familiarity of each other’s mouths together calming. By now Daryl’s fully holding Judith, cradling her to his chest while Rick uses his free hands to cup Daryl’s face, trying so hard to pour his entire heart and soul into the chaste kiss. They break apart naturally, like waves pulling away from the shore, always to return.

Judith finally stopped crying.


End file.
